Wednesday, March 12, 2003

"Making-it-up-as-I-go-along Wednesday"

1. American Foreign Policy for beginners

They're dinky, they're Pinky and the Brain Brain Brain Brain

Dubya: So Brain, what are we gonna do tonight?

Rummy: Same as we do every night. TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!

Dubya: Narf!

Yup, I can see that.

2. Fluff

Regular reader "Two Pies" Bolton asks for more fluffy kittens. Happy to oblige.

3. Fletcher

Here's the first four hundred words of Fletcher: Penguin of Doom that I'm writing for Scaryduck Jr's seventh birthday. Writing for a teeny audience is taking longer than I thought, as I've had to go through it with a fine tooth comb to exorcise every last vestige of swearing and references to Klingon slash fiction. I'll post the whole thing in the Scaryduck Archive when it's done.

Fletcher was not a happy penguin. While all the other penguins were happy to waddle around on the ice-shelf and dive into the ice cold waters of the Ross Sea, Fletcher was not. He hated it. He was cold. Utterly and unbelievably freezing cold. He hated the ice, the snow and the freezing cold winds that blew right through his totally inadequate layer of feathers and out the other side with barely a pause for breath. But if there was anything he hated more than the cold, it was the fish.

Diving for fish was the thing he hated the most in the whole world. It was bad enough standing on the frozen ice-shelf, sheltering from the bitter wind behind what meagre cover he could find - which was usually other penguins who had a nasty habit of waddling away just when he was getting warm - even worse was having to dive into the freezing Ross Sea to go after his dinner. A dinner that was cold, slippery and far too difficult to catch. Just when Fletcher thought he had caught a big, fat juicy fish, it would give a flip of the tail and disappear into the murk. Fletcher only ever caught the weedy, foul tasting little fish that no other penguin would touch, and without the benefit of an endless supply of batter and a deep fat frier, every meal was a disaster waiting to happen.

The other penguins didn’t care. They’d take their fish and whip it down in one go. Were they mad? Fletcher knew what was inside fish. Foul smelling pink and green wobbly bits for starters. And bones. Tiny little bones that get stuck in your throat. That was just asking for trouble. You just couldn’t get a good fish filleter for love nor money, and he was absolutely certain that none of the penguins he knew washed their flippers before meals.

You’ll not be surprised to hear how hard it is to get hold of a nice warm towel in Antarctica. After another afternoon of desperate floundering about in the sea, Fletcher would have given his right flipper for a nice, warm towel, a log fire and fish and chips wrapped up in newspaper. Or at the very least, a dressing gown and a plate of cheese and chutney sandwiches.

4. Log

My referrer logs have produced some real gems over recent days. These are genuine searches people (and I use that word in its loosest possible definition) have used to find this site. Several of these have been the number one search result, a feat whch makes me immensely proud. Students of the art of Disturbing Search Results will find all they need to know and much, much more here.

* were to find out what it looks like in a man's arse
* This website is shit so Piss off!!!!
* free pictures of male buggers naked
* I need information on Ron Jeremy
* old nude pictures of coal miners

And the absolute clincher, which even I am too embarrassed to post up here:

* Take it away! Take it away!

5. Pie

New Weebl and Bob. Sort of.

The Scaryduck Archive

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